


Running Blind

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [36]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, He is Very Salty, Lost Voice, Sickfic, Sleepy Kisses, Stubbornness, Tea, The Host is Sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host is sick and loses his voice. Understandably, he's not too pleased.





	1. Chapter 1

The Host woke in pain.

He made a muffled noise of discomfort, which only _increased_ the pain in his throat, and he rolled over in bed, looping an arm around Dr. Iplier’s waist and pulling him closer to his chest. Inadvertently, Dr. Iplier woke with a start, shifting in the Host’s grasp to face him. “Mm…what is it, wha’s wrong?”

The Host opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a harsh cough. He whined, wincing, and turned over to press his face into the pillows. Dr. Iplier propped himself up with one arm, using his free hand to comb through the Host’s hair. “Oh dear, don’t tell me you’ve lost your voice, not again.” The Host said nothing – not that he really could – and just nodded feebly. Dr. Iplier hummed, concern lacing his voice. “Well, I guess we should’ve expected this, what with all that happened a few weeks ago. I’m…honestly surprised it took this long.” He sighed, shifting more on the bed. “Alright, come on.”

He helped the Host out of bed, the blind ego following miserably. Dr. Iplier lead him to the kitchen, and set about making tea, humming to himself as moved about the kitchen, the Host at the table with his forehead pressed to the wood and his arms dangling limply at his sides. Eventually, Dr. Iplier set a steaming mug down in front of him. “There we go! Wait for that to cool off a bit, and it should help, at least with the pain.”

The two of them sat there in silence, the Host at the table and Dr. Iplier leaning against the counter, until someone else walked in. The Host had to try his hardest not to growl in frustration at his inability to know _who_ , just sipped at his mug.

Whoever it was paused, quite possibly staring at him. “What’s up with you? You look…grumpy.”

Ah. So it was Bim then.

Dr. Iplier chuckled. “Don’t mind him. He’s lost his voice again. He’s just a bit upset, as you can image.”

Bim sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Oof, that must suck.”

Dr. Iplier hummed in response. “It’s his own damn fault for working himself to death like he does. His little gift doesn’t help much, either, nor does all the shit his throat went through a few weeks ago, though that, admittedly, was not his fault. Everything else _completely_ is.” His beloved laughed, snorting into his own mug of tea as the Host flipped him off.

Bim chuckled. “Alright, well, I’m here to get breakfast started. It’s gonna be pretty quiet today; King fell asleep in his tree house again, Silver called me last night and said he was crashing with Jackieboy Man and the Septics, and Wilford and the Jims are off on some ‘exclusive story’.”

“That’s still nine people, Bim.”

“Quieter than fourteen.” There was a pause as the game show host rummaged through the cupboards. “Should I make something easy, so it doesn’t aggravate the Host’s throat?”

“That…would actually be really nice, please.”

Bim hummed softly to himself as he set about preparing breakfast, and Dr. Iplier slid into his seat next to the Host, rubbing his back soothingly. “Hey…in all seriousness, you gonna be okay? I’ll take the day off from the hospital – Henrik can cover my shift.” The Host nodded slowly, taking a sip of his tea and reaching for Dr. Iplier’s hand.

Suddenly he winced, dropping his forehead to the table again with a low whine, bringing one hand up to his throat. He felt Dr. Iplier squeeze his hand, but was a bit too out of it to notice. His narrations were bubbling up in his throat, desperately trying to escape but were unable. The build up of words, lodged his chest, _hurt_. It hurt. Having such a fundamental part of his character, his being, locked away was just bordering the edge of agony.

Dr. Iplier made a sympathetic noise. “And that would be the narrations. Just breathe through it, Host, come on, you’ve done this before.”

The Host let out another whine, the pain the vibrations caused to his swollen vocal cords hardly able to compare to the narrations and flowing words threatening to burst from his chest. Despite the pain, though, he listened to Dr. Iplier’s voice, focusing on his beloved’s breathing and matched it until he went slack, lips moving in a soundless mumble.

“There we go…” Dr. Iplier squeezed his hand again, guiding the Host back upright. “Drink your tea. It’ll help.”

Swallowing back the frankly _burning_ narrations, the Host did exactly that, letting out a sigh of relief as the pain subsided to a dull, bearable ache. He focused himself on _listening_ , zeroing in on all his surroundings: Bim was still humming, the sizzling of what smelled like eggs loud beneath it. Dr. Iplier was blowing on his own mug of tea, creating an odd whistling noise. The Host allowed himself to relax, the familiar sounds easing his tension.

At least, until someone new walked in and he scowled, once again unable to tell.

The footsteps halted, another set stopping soon after. His scowl deepened. _Two_ people. Two people had entered the room. “Um…Host? A-are you okay?”

The Host resolutely ignored Eric’s question, not quite seeing the point of trying if he _couldn’t_ _respond_ , and Dr. Iplier spoke for. “Lost his voice. He’ll be fine by tomorrow, his narrations or whatever weird ability he has heals him fast. I don’t think it’d stand for being pent up for more than twenty-four hours. Anyway, he’s just a bit upset. No matter what he says though, it’s his own fault and don’t let him try to tell you otherwise.”

The Host snorted, stubbornly refusing to wince at the pain it caused, and allowed his aura to wisp around him, forcing the words that dripped like ink in the air into a few cohesive statements: _‘The Host politely asks Dr. Iplier to go fuck himself. ‘Upset’ is an understatement. Being rendered both blind and mute is not exactly a fun combination.’_

Dr. Iplier promptly burst into surprised laughter, quickly joined by Eric and – judging by the light lilt the laughter held – Reynolds. He drew his mouth in a tight line, continuing to drink his tea, as Dr. Iplier buried his face in his shoulder, still shaking with laughter. “Oh my God! I forgot how _salty_ you get when you’re stuck like this!”

The Host’s scowl deepened, and he heard two chairs being scraped across the floor, likely Eric and Reynolds taking their seats. The sound of moving pistons and humming cores greeted his ears next. The more ‘enthusiastic’ set (Bing) quickly settled into his seat, while the other paused, the Host shifting uncomfortably as Google’s gaze washed over him. “Awfully quiet. Am I correct in assuming the Host has lost his voice yet again?”

The Host made a peeved noise at Google’s immediate addressing to Dr. Iplier, skipping him entirely. He twisted his aura once more, bandages darkening slightly from the exertion. _‘The Host may not have a voice, but he can respond just fine. Google would do well to remember that.’_ He smirked slightly when he heard Google take a surprised step back as the other egos immediately burst into another round of laughter, Bing being the loudest.

“Oh _man_ , Google! You just got put in your _place_!” Google didn’t respond to Bing’s breathless words, the younger android still giggling to himself, and instead just slid into his seat. The Host was nearly positive he cheeks were tinted light blue as he grumbled under his breath, too soft for the others to hear.

“What’s goin’ on in here?” Ed’s southern drawl was easily recognizable, as was the crackling, calm-before-the-storm presence of Dark’s aura. The egos at the table – minus the Host of course – were too lost in their own laugher to respond, leaving Bim to pipe up from the stove.

“The Host’s lost his voice again and he’s apparently particularly sassy this time around.”

Dark hummed. “Well, whatever the reason, let’s try to settle down. I have work to do. And someone needs to fetch King at some point, else he may come down with hypothermia again.”

The egos all shared similar looks as the last two took the seats. Dark was always particularly officious and surly when Wilford was away. Still, they obeyed, and Bim came around the table, setting down plates of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast, keeping his promise to make it easy for the Host. However, the Host could only make it through a few bites before the chore of swallowing became too much for him, the stress of keeping his aura up causing his sockets to bleed. For the moment, he was content to just sit with the others, sipping at lukewarm tea and smiling softly.

The others eventually dispersed, but the Host continued to sit at the table, slumped slightly. That is, until he felt something grab his leg and he jumped, knees slamming against the underside of the table and letting out a yelp. He hissed, one hand flying up to rub at his throat. The thing on his leg continued to climb, the Host sitting stiff and rigid, until something soft was pushing against his fingers, followed by a quiet mewl.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the Host scooped Peggy (Bing’s new kitten) into his lap, allowing his aura to fade. Peggy purred loudly as he ran his fingers down her back, flopping over onto her side and catching the claws on her one front paw on his sleeve. He smiled, tilting his head back and continued to pet the little kitten, much to Peggy’s delight.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The Host was very wrong.

The more the day progressed, the sulkier he became. He couldn’t _work_ ; being a radio host required having a voice to speak with, and in order to write down his visions in his library he needed his narrations to make sure his writing was legible and actually on the parchment. Not to mention that the words building up in his chest were becoming harder and harder to ignore, growing into a painful throb. It was making him irritable, and at the expense of the other egos.

Currently he was laying the length of the couch, hands behind his head and blood running in tiny rivulets from the corners of his sockets and beneath his bandages, having pooled and filled his sockets, with his aura swirling around him much like an irritated cat flicked its tail. He knew he should head to Dr. Iplier’s to get them cleaned out, but he _really_ didn’t want to bother; it was uncomfortable, yes (only succeeding in worsening his mood), but he’d rather lay there than stumble awkwardly up the stairs and run into walls without his narrations.

At some point Peggy had joined him, curling up on his chest and sending rumbling purrs – far too loud to come from a creature _that_ small – vibrating through his body, soothing him marginally. Still, he huffed, scowling, when someone else walked into the room, exuding an air of rolling his eyes despite his inability to do so.

Dark’s aura intermingled with his own, making him stiff and rigid at the intrusion. “Host, get up. You’re getting blood on the couch.”

The Host didn’t bother with the exertion of his aura, and didn’t move a muscle, Peggy remaining undisturbed on his chest.

Dark let out an exasperated sigh. “Goddammit, Host, I know you hurt, and I know you’re frustrated, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. Get up.”

The Host simply raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in Dark’s direction and sending more blood pouring from his sockets, a smirk on his face.

“Alright, that’s it.” And suddenly Dark’s aura was wrapping around him, lifting him off the couch. He drew in a startled breath, as if to make some sort of noise, but he didn’t get that far, dissolving into a harsh cough. Peggy leapt off his chest with an annoyed mrow, the Host’s body shaking and breaths rattling and hoarse. He lung limply in Dark’s grasp, more focused on _breathing_ and fighting down the flashbacks of when his throat was so swollen he _couldn’t_ breathe, and thus let out a startled shriek – accompanied by another coughing fit – when he was suddenly dropped from the air, landing on a soft bed beneath him. It was then that he noticed the smell of sterilization, a staple of Dr. Iplier’s office.

Dark withdrew his aura, stepping away and presumably addressing Dr. Iplier. “Take care of him. Do something, he’s being a pain. I have to go clean bloodstains off the couch.”

The Host groaned, stretching his aura out to spell out a single word right in Dark’s face. _‘Dick.’_

Dark snorted, but didn’t dignify the Host with a reply. The blind ego made another pissed-off noise, rolling over and sending blood cascading onto the sheets, aura fading. Suddenly a hand was whacking him on the back of the head and he yelped, wincing right after. “You’re a moron. I took the day off specifically to help you and you decide to take your frustrations out on everyone in the house until Dark literally had to carry your ass here instead. Stubborn prick.”

The Host stiffened when he felt some sort of pan being placed under his head, and Dr. Iplier began picking at his bandages, pulling them away and sending whatever remaining blood caught in his sockets waterfalling down his face. “And fucking _this_! If you want to get better, stubbornly refusing to take care of yourself is _not_ going to help! Jesus Christ, Host, I love you, but God _damn_ you can be a pain in the ass.”

The Host snorted, whimpering pitifully as his beloved began furiously dabbing at his face with a cotton ball, wiping away the blood. “Get some sleep, Goddammit. You’ll feel better in the morning and, frankly, no one wants to deal with you until then. I will drug you if I have to.”

The Host shifted as the pan was removed, burying into the blankets and sighing. He sighed, doubting that he’d find sleep with the uncomfortable ache deep in his chest. But then Dr. Iplier began humming as he worked, and his consciousness faded into a dreamless slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

The Host woke the next morning in his own bed with a wide grin.

He hummed softly, delighting in the absence of pain, and promptly buried his face in Dr. Iplier’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling the other closer to him, intertwining their legs. Dr. Iplier groaned, rolling over and pushing away slightly. “Feeling better?”

“Dr. Iplier is an asshole.”         

His beloved snorted, muffling his laughter in the Host’s chest. “A whole twenty-four hours unable to say a word and _that’s_ the first thing you say?!”

The Host’s grin widened, claiming the doctor’s lips in a sleepy kiss. Dr. Iplier hummed into it, eyelids fluttering. “The Host admits he may have been a bit short yesterday –”

“Insufferable, more like.”

“– _But_ he is feeling much better.” He pressed another kiss to the other’s forehead, then to his throat, humming and grinning against his skin. “And he has _many_ things he would _love_ to tell his beloved now that he is able.”

Dr. Iplier flushed, gripping the Host’s biceps as he continued to pepper his throat and shoulder with kisses. “…Okay.”

They didn’t leave the bed until _much_ later.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never be able to say enough how much I fucking LOOOOOVE the Host! But whatever. Anyway, Wednesday's story is going to be really interesting! A new couple shall form! Y'all should let me know who you think are getting together ;) I won't tell you if you're right! But I'm curious as to see who you guys ship in my little version of the Ego dynamics.


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